


Snow on the Throne

by firesign



Series: To Serve a Dragon Queen [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, Bottom Jon Snow, Bottom!Jon, Dominant Daenerys, F/M, Jon Snow Gets Pegged, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Pegging, Sub Jon Snow, Top Daenerys, Top!Dany, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 23:21:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18980425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firesign/pseuds/firesign
Summary: A highly dominant Daenerys pegs Jon Snow on the Iron Throne, following the victory in King's Landing. Alternative ending to 8.6. She isn't "mad", she just knows what she wants. And she's Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, you know?The consent in this work is dubious, in light of Dany’s position as Jon’s ruler and him being sworn to obey her, as he likely was not considering the situation presented here when he made that vow.He met her eyes for a long moment. She was fierce, unmovable. Did he think loving a Dragon Queen was going to be easy? He swallowed hard, clenching his jaw.*********************************************************************************************************************************





	Snow on the Throne

He had always been drawn to strong women.

First Ygritte. He fell in love with her the moment she told him to strike hard and true with his sword, her pale neck offered beneath his steel. Such bravery, the way she held herself still, didn’t cry, didn’t plead. He’d seen many men go to their deaths with far less grace. How could he not have loved her? How could he possibly have killed something so free, so wild?

And then Daenerys. His queen. His conquerer. As he waited outside the gates of King’s Landing, to lead his men into battle at her command, waiting to throw himself into a fight that could be his possible death, as every battle could, he’d thought of nothing but her. Another woman who had shown bravery beyond his limited imagination, riding Drogon north of the wall, rescuing him and the men he’d lead there from certain death. Risking everything—her life, her dragon’s life. From the moment he’d seen her on the dragon, he’d been hers. His heart. His sword. His life.

He was hers to command.

Today she had come blazing through the wall of the city like a comet, bright fire, life. Like the sun. His men had taken on a wild bravery. How could they not, with her as their Queen? Most men lived their lives without saying they’d been able to fight for anything so noble as a Dragon Queen. 

He’d rushed into battle with them, born forward with mission, his muscles strong. They’d fought their way to the center, when the Lannister men had surrendered. The city had surrendered.

And then, Daenerys . . .

He had known she might do it. It was her right, as Queen. He’d tried to tell Varys that. You didn’t pledge yourself to a ruler and then withdraw it the moment they took steps you might have felt were too ruthless. There was no such thing as too ruthless, in Westeros. Not for Queens and Kings. A ruler had to do what was necessary to maintain the order of the land. It’s why Jon hadn’t wanted the throne. He wasn’t suited for it. Dany was.

He’d lead a hundred thousand more men into a hundred thousand new battles for her, if that’s what she wanted. She was going to build a better world, a more merciful one. These things were not so easily done.

And he was sworn to her.

After leaving Tyrion in the cell where they were holding him, he went straight to the throne room, and found her there. Snow and ash falling into her hair. His mother of dragons. Her eyes bright with hope, with love.

“My Queen,” he said when she turned to him, and went to one knee.

“Rise, Jon Snow,” she said. “You have given me the city. You have given me the throne that is mine. I owe you a debt.”

“Thank you, your grace,” Jon said, his voice husky with smoke. He watched her closely. His lady was wild, and she had just fought a fierce battle. He knew the way that sort of violence could pound hot in a man’s blood, making him apt to do things he normally wouldn’t. He trusted Daenerys, but anyone could lash out, and when a Dragon Queen lashed, you had better be a step ahead of her. “I’ve just been with Tyrion.”

“And?” Dany said. Jon tried to read her face for signs of rage, but it was emotionless. The thrill, the hope, had gone out of her eyes, but so far, no anger had replaced it.

“And he told me I should kill you. He’s committed treason against you. He’s betrayed us.”

Dany’s eyes took on a faraway look as she absorbed this news. Jon heard the sound of marching in the rooms behind him. He kept his eyes on his queen as her guard, lead by Grey Worm, filed into the room, spears and shields at the ready.

“Thank you, Jon,” she said. “You have proven yourself loyal to me.”

“I am yours, your grace.”

“And you have sworn to obey me?”

“Aye, Dany,” he said. Was she going to ask him to execute Tyrion? To prove his loyalty? He would. A man who would plot to kill his Queen could not be allowed to live. It’s why Jon had executed the mutinous men of the Night’s Watch, even Olly. He’d hated to do it. An awful act. Necessary, but awful.

“Whatever I command?”

“Whatever you command.” Jon swore. He glanced at the door, where her Queen’s Guard of Unsullied were being joined, now, by Dothraki warriors. 

“Take of your clothes, Jon Snow,” Daenerys told him. “And arrange yourself over the throne.”

She was going to beat him, now? When he was fresh from battle? 

“Dany,” he said, an argument forming on his tongue. A plea. Please.

“You have your command,” Dany said. “Do your forsake your vows to me already? Here, when we have finally won what is ours?”

He met her eyes for a long moment. She was fierce, unmovable. Did he think loving a Dragon Queen was going to be easy? He swallowed hard, clenching his jaw.

“Yes your Grace,” he said, husky and low. It was a long walk to the throne. Dany stood next to it, looking out over her forces. Jon kept his back to them as he began to undress, first unfastening his sword belt, then kneeling to work at the laces at his boots. He was at war with himself. He was sworn to obey her. He loved her. He worried that the price of serving a dragon queen would be more than he could pay.

“Qoy Qoyi!” Dany began, raising her voice, taking on the commanding tone she was so well suited for. Blood of my blood. That was nearly all of the Dothraki language Jon knew. She went on addressing them in the harsh, guttural language. Jon listened with admiration, his cock stirring at her power, her strength. Her domination over him, and all others. As she addressed her army he continued undressing, working off the gambeson, his padded tunic. At last he shrugged off his shirt, the muscles in his back aching from battle, and then, bending, pushed down his breeches. His clothes in a pile on the ground, his backside bare and exposed to men he’d fought beside just moments ago, Jon folded his hands in front of him, and waited. 

Dany finished speaking and the Dothraki erupted in cries of triumph, ululating. The Unsullied pounded their spears. Over the din, Dany turned her head to Jon.

“I told you to arrange yourself over the throne, did I not?”

“Yes Your Grace,” Jon said. “I’m sorry.” He should have done it already, but he hadn’t been able to make himself move. He stood in front of the throne, and then, drawing in a deep breath, bent forward, bracing himself on his palms, offering his arse up for her punishment. He was sore, bleeding, the pain of the blows he’d taken in battle beginning to set in. 

“Torgo Nudho,” Dany said, and Jon waited for Grey Worm to bring her a belt to beat him with, listening to the Unsullied’s footsteps on the floor of the throne room. Her throne room. There were stranger things in the Seven Kingdoms, he told himself, than the King in the North and the 998th Commander of the Night’s Watch bending to accept the whip from his queen and lover. He hoped Arya wasn’t here. She wouldn’t take well to this; she would never understand. Arya was driven by anger, bloody courage. What Jon was submitting to—that was something else.

“Jon Snow,” Daenerys said, addressing him. “King in the North. Does the North yield?”

“It does, my Queen,” Jon said, raising his voice so that all in the room were sure to hear. Behind him, some Dothraki blood rider said something in Dothraki that sent a wave of laughter through the men. Jon knew he could not possibly be more yielded. It was agony, waiting here like this, naked and submitted in front of all of her men. But he was hers to command. He had sworn his vows. She had his heart. Along with the humiliation was a fierce desire to obey his Queen.

“You will submit to me now to prove your loyalty and that of the North,” she said.

“Yes your Grace,” Jon said. The words were barely out when the Dothraki began to ululate in terrible volume. Jon turned his head instinctively to see what was going on, but as he turned it, he felt something cold and firm thrust into him, into the cleft of his arse—and then immediately prodding into his hole.

“Your Grace!” he said, startling, bucking. Dany’s hand was on his back immediately, pushing him back down.

“Don’t disgrace yourself now,” she said. “Did you think I was going to beat you?”

“Yes my Queen,” Jon said, his eyes wild for a moment, every muscle in his body clenched. He’d heard of such things, in brothels, but where had Dany gotten hold of one? And why couldn’t she have used it on him in private? Not here, in front of the Unsullied and Dothraki, men he would later be expected to lead?

“But you were just in battle. You fought bravely for me. I’m not going to beat you in punishment. I’m going to fuck you. As reward.”

“Dany—wait—not here. Not like this.” Jon Snow had never begged for anything in his life. He was begging now.

He felt her fingers digging into his shoulder, her breath in his ear. He held himself still, allowing her to hurt him. “I have won the last war. With fire and blood, I took the land that was mine. Now I will take the man that is mine, as is my right as his queen. Are you not mine?”

“I am, your Grace,” Jon’s voice came out ragged, guttural. Behind them, the Dothraki were battle-wild with approval, with lust. 

“Does part of you not want this, Jon,” she hissed. “Do you not ache for it in your loins?” she reached around and grabbed his cock, which was, against his will, swelling, stroking it slowly.

“Seven hells, Dany,” he breathed as she stroked him. His life had wrought a strength in him he'd never thought he'd have, but he was powerless against her will.“For fuck’s sake. Take me. I’m yours. The North is yours.”

Dany didn’t wait. At his words, she thrust into him, hard, and Jon couldn’t help it, he raised his head and let out a cry at the intrusion. Then he surrendered, his head dropping, and held himself up on his palms as Daenerys took him from behind, took him in his most intimate opening, a place where he had never thought to feel another’s touch, let alone another’s entry. The contraption she had, whatever it was, must have been slicked with something because it slid in and out easily enough, but that didn’t stop it from hurting. There was pain with every thrust, opening him, splitting him, in a way he didn’t know he could split.

“Dany . . . “ he panted. “Oh gods. Dany!”

Behind him, the Dothraki were going wild. Jon remembered what Dany had told him, that this was how they had once celebrated their victories—with pillaging and raping. Now Daenerys would not allow them to rape women in the streets, but she would take him here, for all of them to see, a ritual, perhaps, to quench their thirst for force and flesh.

To claim him as hers.

His awareness of the crowd behind him—Grey Worm, possibly Jorah?—watching him as he submitted, as the King in the North was fucked by his Queen, didn’t fall away, but it fell into the distance. Daenerys drove him to distraction, his thirst for her, his lust. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, dragon claws, and then one hand snaked into his hair, grabbing his curls and pulling his head back, so that he arched his back and thrust his head skyward, baring his neck, like a filly. She thrust into him hard, pounding, his entire body jerking with each thrust. Could she spend herself like this, he wondered fleetingly? Did the contraption have something in it that was built for a woman’s pleasure? “Dany,” he moaned. “Dany.” He was in pain. Her hand that had been on his shoulder reached around again and took his cock, and she began to stroke it in rhythm with her thrusts. 

“Dany,” he pleaded. “Please. Not here.”

“Take the pleasure that is yours, Lord Commander Snow,” she said. “Take it as your reward.”

Then she stroked, and stroked, and Jon’s eyes rolled back into his head, his eyelids shutting, panting, his body quivering. He gave himself over to the sensations of it. Dany pounded him with her false cock, and stroked him, and then the cock found some place inside of him—some secret place, some holy place that he hadn’t known about before, and it felt good, suddenly. The pleasure overwhelmed him quickly.

“Daenerys!” cried, panting. “My queen! My queen!”

And he spent himself into her hand and all over the Iron Throne.

The roar that went up from her blood riders was thunderous, washing over Jon as he forced himself to stay on his feet, though he was weak in the knees. Dany withdrew from him abruptly and he shuddered and gasped, missing her presence inside of him. She turned to face the hall, moving aside, allowing them all a view of him. Jon held himself and caught his breath while she addressed them in commanding, triumphant Dothraki. He was so beside himself, he doubted he would have caught a word even if he’d spent his life learning Dothraki. The Dothraki and Unsullied alike roared as she finished. Jon felt her touch on his back. He craned his neck to look at her. She was smiling, her eyes warm. “Rise, Lord Commander. Rise, my love. You are my greatest pride.”

Flames warmed Jon from within, at her words. He stood, his legs still shaky beneath him. He kept his eyes on her, his naked backside to the room.

“Turn, and face your people,” she bid him. Swallowing hard, Jon did. He made no attempt to cover his spent cock, he would not cower here before them; not when he was in the service of his Queen. Glancing down, he saw the device she had used on him—a thick cock made of clear glass attached to a leather belt and harness. His Queen was still in her royal dress, she must not have removed it. Dany took his hand and then raised it above their heads. “Blood of my blood!” She cried. “I give you Jon Snow, born a bastard, raised to King in the North, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and of the Northern Armies—and now, my Royal Consort. Lord Snow shall rule at my side, and I shall command him. You shall obey his word as you would obey mine. Together we shall protect the seven kingdoms from tyrannny. From this day, until our last days!”

Jon panted, staring at her, as the warriors before him thundered and ululated and raised their weapons in his honor. She looked at him, smiling again, a fierce pride in her eyes. 

“There is no man in the kindgom who is above you, in my eyes,” she said, for him only.

“My queen,” he breathed, smiling wryly. “Above me I want only a lady.”

Dany smiled, and then cast an eyebrow behind them, at the Throne. “I shall have to find a serving girl before I can sit on it,” she said, grinning wickedly. Jon flushed. “You may dress, my consort. Although I’d like to require your constant nudity, I won’t.”

“May I kiss you first, my Queen?” Jon said. Dany’s smile was a bright as a star.

“You may,” she said, and he did, kissed her fiercely and hard. When at last he pulled away, he turned and began the task of putting back on his clothes. The Dothraki began to mill about the room, addressing one another. One of them broke out a flagon of wine and all the men began to drink. Their celebrations would last long into the night, Jon knew. As for the Unsullied, they remained silent and in formation, awaiting orders.

“Your grace,” he said. “Should we begin with Tyrion? As your consort, I cannot advise you to allow a traitor to live.” He stepped into his breeches, pulling them up, tying the laces around his waist.

“I value your advice, always, my love,” Dany said. “But for Tyrion, I choose to show mercy.”

“Mercy?” Jon said. “But Dany—he wanted me to kill you.”

“But you didn’t. He is a broken man, and hurting,” Daenerys said. “He does not understand what it takes to rule. And he mourns for his brother and sister. His entire family is lost to him. I know something of that,” she said, her eyes darkening. “We shall give him time. I believe eventually, he will come around.”

Jon nodded, his loose white undershirt billowing around him. “As you say, your Grace. We must establish our small council, then. And send the Unsullied to patrol the streets, bringing aid to your people. We must plan the Targaryen restoration.” He bent down to pick up his padded tunic, about to shrug it back on, when Daenerys put out a hand, and stopped him.

“Don’t bother, my lord,” she said. “As thrilling as that was, I am not spent. I shall only have you back out of it before long.”

“Dany,” Jon chuckled. “We have so much that must be done.”

“And we will do it, to be sure,” Dany said, taking both of his hands, beaming at him. “Together. We have the rest of our lives.”

Jon looked over her shoulder at the men behind them. Truthfully, following the battle, and the victory, they were like to be useless for the rest of the evening and night. He had already deployed the combat healers and medics of King’s Landing, sending the women and men skilled in such things out into the streets to aid as many as they could. He knew that some of the Unsullied had already set about bringing bread and water to those who needed it. Perhaps it was best to wait, at least until morning.

Perhaps his Queen deserved this, for one night.

“Aye, we do,” Jon said, smiling at her. “Will you let me attend to you then, my Queen?” he looked at her from beneath his brow, darkening his gaze, making sure she would take his meaning. “Let me be your consort. In word as well as body.”

Dany raised one eyebrow at him. “Here?”

“If my queen should like,” he said, his voice husky, daring to run his palms down her sides, over her hips. “I should be proud to do it.”

She smiled at him, her eyes hungry. “Take me to bed, Jon Snow. Do you know where any beds in the Red Keep are?”

“No, your Grace,” Jon smiled. “But in time, we shall find them all.”

He took her hand and lead her from the room.


End file.
